


Frozen Lands and Warm Hearts

by TheLoneSurvivor



Series: Heroes, Legends, and Saviors [7]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fluff, Friendship, Humour, Love, M/M, Mead, Stormcloaks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-11 11:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4434617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLoneSurvivor/pseuds/TheLoneSurvivor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just a collection of some of the happiest moments of my favourite couple (of my own making), Bormic and Ralof, during their life as friends, and lovers in the harsh land of Skyrim.</p>
<p>Drabble collection. Will be updated whenever I want to. Always willing to accept requests. Everything past 'chapter' 10 is non-canon Heroes, Legends and Saviours and doesn't abide by the timeline unless said otherwise.<br/>***Currently on hiatus/very slow updates! Will be worked on when more time is found.***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Cold

“Brr,” Bormic shivered. “Is Skyrim always this cold?”

Ralof laughed warmly, his breath coming out in small puffs, almost like smoke. “Down south it isn't as bad. But yes, it is always this cold.”

“Well,” Bormic said through his shivers. “It's better than choking on ash I guess.”

“Oh right,” Ralof remembered. “You're from Morrowind.”

“People still call it by its proper name? I thought by now it would be known as 'ash land' by now. That's what everyone who lives their call it.”

Ralof chuckled, and watched the waves from the Sea of Ghosts roll gently against the shoreline. He had never known a man like Bormic. He was strong, brave, smart, but also warm and pleasant to be around. One person who would never betray you no matter how hard you hurt him. And it was something Ralof admired.

“I wish the war ended so we could head back to someplace warmer.” Bormic muttered, wrapping his cloak tightly around him as the wind chilled him even more.

Ralof was almost the opposite. He was wearing the standard Stormcloak outfit, and nothing more. No helmet, cloak, or anything. His warhammer had been discarded and now sat in the snow along the cliff they rested at.

“I just wish the war would _end_.” Ralof admitted. “It's been going on too long, and too many have died from it.”

“If people wanted this to be over quick, they would have joined the Empire.”

“And leave behind Talos?” Ralof shook his head sadly. “Nords will never forget that legend.”

“Yeah. I bet if the Empire wasn't founded by Talos himself, no Nord would ever join!” Bormic managed a laugh, shivering a little less than before.

“Well, they might have in the past. Before the Great War at least. The Empire is crumbling, and if it loses Skyrim as well, no doubt it will collapse much faster.”

Bormic frowned. “If the Empire never lost to the Dominion in the first place, it would have never had us rebels. And anyone who joins the Empire, is not a Nord who loves their heritage. To turn your back on the man who founded the Empire... it's hard to believe it's the same one, really.”

“It's a shame that we lost. If I had been around during then I would've joined the fight.”

“No offence, but one man wouldn't have made the difference between us winning and losing. You would have most likely ended up dead like most who lived in the war.”

“I know, but I would've taken out at least one of those elves!” Ralof declared, his voice carried away by the wind. “And maybe I would have lived and followed Ulfric's leadership much sooner.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. There are some things that I really don't like about that man.”

“Oh?” Ralof looked at him, and asked, “Like what?”

“Well he acts like he's better than everyone else most of the time. He's racist as well. Growing up in Morrowind, there was at least five of every race in each town, all either trying to improve it or leave. I can't believe how he treats the Dunmer and Argonians.”

Ralof nodded. “Yes, there are a few things wrong with the man, but his cause is true. I follow him for that, not what flaws he has.”

“Sometimes a man's flaws makes it wrong though. A man's cause can be the most just thing in the world, but his flaws makes everyone frown and shake their heads rather than joining. While others can have the worst cause imaginable, but have everyone join him because he's perfect.”

“Wise words, from a wise man. Maybe you should be a scholar,”

“Pah,” Bormic waved a hand at Ralof. “I'm too stupid to be a scholar. Plus, I've always had a thing for violence, and hitting those Imperials certainly helps.”

Ralof laughed.

“I could never be an Imperial. Even I believed in their cause.” Bormic admitted.

“Why?” asked Ralof.

“I've never worn clothes worn by most women, and I doubt I ever will.”

They both laughed and Bormic reached over to grab the two bottles of mead they brought. They knocked the bottles together as a cheer and popped the caps off before drinking deeply from its contents.

Bormic was the first to speak after their drink. “I think we should make our own brewery when we make it out of this alive.”

“Aye.” Ralof agreed. “We could even get an alchemist to help out with that.”

“That would be a good idea. We're pretty close to the college, so we might even be able to search now.”

“If we don't freeze first!”

They shared another laugh, and then went silent, watching the waves begin to crash against the shore before they had to go back to camp. They were partners to the end, through and through. Ever since they got the Jagged Crown, and until the ends of time. They would always be together in frozen lands, with warm hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble is before Bormic and Ralof became lovers, if anyone was curious. I think I'll be saying where these are in the timeline from now on.


	2. Cards and Drinks

“By the Nine,” Bormic remarked. “Even though the sun is out, this place is still cold!”

Ralof laughed. “When do you think you'll get used to the cold?”

“Either in another few years, or never.”

“Most likely the latter,” Ralof nudged Bormic's shoulder.

They both shared a laugh. Solitude was busy that day. With the capital falling and the Imperial general killed, there was always time to rebuild. They were no longer a threat, unless another legion was sent this way. But they had killed one of the best leaders they had, and that was something most Imperials were now afraid. The Stormcloaks were not to be messed with, and they knew it.

Hammers struck against whatever needed repairing, and lots of scaffolding was in place. So many buildings had been damaged during the assault on the city, most of it needed repairing out at the gate. Bormic wasn't sure why, but Ulfric gave him the ability to kill the general himself, and using Ulfric's blade no less. He took it graciously and sent the Imperial's soul off to the dreamsleeve in a single downwards swing. He had been gifted the blade which had been carefully crafted from malachite, and it now rested on his belt.

“Do you think Ulfric's over at Castle Dour, the Blue Palace, or the Inn?” Bormic asked.

Ralof thought about the three places for a few moments before saying his answer. “I say the inn. Something like the siege must have taken a lot out of him, even though it's days later.”

“Aye, that makes sense. Let's go then.”

They walked into the inn, which was promptly named 'The Winking Skeever' and the smell of sweat and mead instantly assaulted the soldier's noses. But they made through it and found Galmar and Ulfric sitting at one of the tables, smiling over a map with tankards holding it in place. They stepped up to the table and seated themselves without asking, or anything of the sorts.

“Mind if we join you?” Bormic asked, as he already had seated himself.

Galmar smiled and huffed while Ulfric had a smirk on his face. “It is foolish to approach a Jarl without summons,”

Bormic laughed for only a moment. “Oh, I'm sorry. I don't know much about Nordic customs.” He repeated from what seemed to be a lifetime ago.

“It is good to see you Bormic. How have things been holding up?”

“Since the siege? Good. I've just been walking around the city most of the time, trying to get used to the cold.”

“Still?” Galmar asked, reaching for his bottle of mead.

“What can I say? I've lived in a place that's warmer than Skyrim is during a heatwave all my life.”

Ralof laughed. “True,”

“So, what are you up to?” Bormic asked.

“Not much. We don't have anything left to do, really. Want to play some cards?” Ulfric suggested.

Bormic shrugged. “I have no reason not to,”

“I'll join in as well,” Ralof added.

“And I'll get more drinks. I'll need 'em.” Galmar said, walking off to the counter.

They decided on playing a good game of poker. High Rock hold 'em to be exact. The game was over what gold they had, and Galmar was the first one out, as usual. He never lasted long in gambling, even with dice. Ralof was the second one out, and the two of them just laughed and drank while watching the game play out between Ulfric and Bormic. They had all gotten drunker as the day change to night, and still no one had won.

“So what's the pot now?” Ralof slurred, almost causing mead to splash everywhere.

“I think it's around two kay gold, Ulfric's sword and Bormic's, and...” Galmar said as he snatched a small parchment from the top of the pile. “a card where the loser has to work an entire day fixing the city.”

“You won't win,” Ulfric said, throwing down his cards. They showed three twos.

“Ha!” Bormic said as he threw down his cards as well. “I just did.”

They looked at them, and he had a full house.

“Wow,” Galmar spoke. “Looks like it will be a tough day for you, Ulfric. Finally working for once.”

Ulfric shrugged. “It'll be no problem. I can do it!”

Bormic laughed. This is going to be one memory he won't let Ulfric live down for a _long_ time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe not funny or cute or anything, but still, one more piece added to the puzzle!  
> 


	3. War Memories

Ralof leaned on the edge of the wall, looking out to the water and scenery below. They hadn't left Solitude and decided to stay another night or so, even after Ulfric and Galmar had decided to go back to Windhelm, _after_ Ulfric's day of work of course. Ralof sighed at the beauty of the twilight as stars began to reveal themselves in the deep blue sky as the water below rippled and gently rolled against the shoreline and the dock.

Bormic joined him only minutes after, with a bottle of mead in his hand and almost completely drunk. He wrapped his shoulder around Ralof and he didn't argue, and instead huddled up against the larger figure. Bormic sighed and looked out at the scenery as well.

“It's a lovely night out,” he spoke, his voice surprisingly stable despite his intoxication.

“It is,” Ralof agreed. “Not as lovely as you are, you big bear.”

Bormic laughed. “Am I threatening, or cuddly?”

“Both,” Ralof said as he snatched Bormic's mead and took a large gulp from it.

“Hey,” Bormic said, grabbing the bottle back. “Get your own!”

Ralof rolled his eyes. “I'm thinking you love mead more than myself,”

“No,” Bormic said as he finished the bottle and threw it down into the ocean. “It's just that mead and I have known one another a lot longer.”

They shared a laugh and continued to look out as the day dimmed and night began to take over the world once more. It was hard for them to believe that the city had been under siege for months on end only a week ago, as it seemed like the siege had never happened, if they didn't look much at the front gate. If they did, then it was a disaster area. The tower that stood to separate the road to the city, and to the docks was half destroyed, and Bormic remembered seeing it fall. It ended up breaking some of the wall next to it and blocking the path to the city itself for a week.

Ralof involuntarily shuddered and Bormic got him a little closer to him, knowing what he was shuddering from. “That siege _was_ nasty,”

“How could you tell it was from that?” Ralof asked, trying to play it off like it wasn't obvious or anything.

Bormic chuckled. “Well, you looked over to where the camps once were, and you also hated that siege the most. More than Whiterun's, more than Morthal's, and more than Markarth's, oh and Riften's.”

Ralof shuddered again. “Whiterun was the first one I had gone through. I'm glad you were with me though,”

“Not when I went inside the walls though,” Bormic said grimly.

“I couldn't go with you. And you handled it yourself well enough.”

“I did,” Bormic admitted. “But it would've been nice to have someone else walk through the city with me.”

Ralof nodded. “The night's still beautiful,” he said, trying to change the subject.

“Well it's only been a few minutes since you said it before!” Bormic laughed. “It would take more than a few minutes to turn this night into a horrible one.”

“Unless a dragon shows it's face,” Ralof said, nudging Bormic.

They chuckled for only a few seconds, before as if on queue, a dragon's roar could be heard in the distance. Bormic looked on and leaned down to kiss Ralof on the forehead. He flinched at the feel of Bormic's fuzzy, bear-like beard rubbing against his skin, but welcomed it.

“Hearing that call was even worse than hearing the horn from those Forsworn during the siege of Markarth.” Ralof said, reliving the horrible memories of that night.

Bormic shuddered. “I fucking hate them. Their armour doesn't help, and they use poison too. I hope I never fall to one of the bastards.”

“I doubt you will,” Ralof said, a smile playing across his lips. “It'll take more than an insane man with an axe to take you down.”

“It's not the axes I don't like though,” Bormic said, wrapping his arm a little tighter around Ralof. “It's the arrows.”

And that's when Ralof remembered; Bormic never liked arrows. They had taken down his friends back in Morrowind, and he had lost countless friends to them during their Stormcloak campaign across Skyrim. Bormic didn't like many things, but archers and forsworn were certainly up there.

“Well, I think we should head back inside.” Bormic said, before going down to kiss Ralof.

He returned it, and then when they broke, he nodded. “That would be wise, maybe you can win another game of dice for us?”

Bormic only laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, another layer of Bormic has been unravelled. I know exactly what I'm going to do for the next drabble too which is nice.


	4. Supplies for the Storm

The stars had just began to make way for the sun to once more make its journey across the sky. Scarlet and light pink cascaded across the bright blue sky; dawn had arrived. The wind rustled the snow-covered pines, and the sparse bushes wrapped in frost, while guiding the small and fluffy clouds in the sky on their course. A ship had docked only an hour previous, just before first light, and now bobbed in the frigid water of the Sea of Ghosts.

Ralof looked out the window of the inn and to the docks to see the ship had arrived. With a small movement, he tapped Bormic's shoulder with the tip of his fingers. His eyes blearily opened, and closed, before opening a little more. “What is it Ralof?” his voice deep and slightly hoarse.

Ralof lifted his head in the direction of the dock. “The ship has arrived.”

Bormic's eyes went a little wider, and he lazily climbed out of bed. He stretched and groaned as he loosened himself up for what was ahead. They had only a meager meal of stew that had been kept at a slightly-below warm temperature during the night, and a cup of snowberry leaf tea for each of them. The two of them made their way to the stables and Bormic grabbed the horse and attached the carriage to the beast with the help of Ralof. They made their way down to the docks not long after, being careful not to slip on the icy cobble road.

The captain bowed when the two soldiers approached. Bormic tied the reigns on the horse to one of the posts on the dock and walked with Ralof up to the captain of the ship.

“This is what we have been tasked to deliver, I hope everything is in order?” the Redguard's voice was as smooth as the silk made in the Alik'r.

Bormic and Ralof looked over the crates and nodded finally. “Yes, everything is in order.”

The Redguard clasped his hands together and smiled. “Excellent! My crew would be willing to assist in unloading.”

“That would be great,” Bormic replied, shivering a little but grabbing one of the crates and walking towards the carriage.

Ralof followed his lead, and grabbed a crate and hauled it off. The crew of the transport ship eventually climbed out and helped as well, stacking crate after crate onto the carriage until it was full, and no crates remained. The sun was a little higher in the sky by then, sometime a few hours before ten rolled around.

The wind had turned into a soft breeze and the scarlet had faded from the sky, leaving a deeper and richer blue. Dark grey clouds revealed themselves to the two soldier's backs. They were just making it out of town as they saw the ship begin to take its leave as well from the frozen, nearly defenceless city of Dawnstar. The air was cold, but fresh, and each breath out let out a puff of misty steam that drifted off into the air behind them.

“What do you think?” Ralof eventually asked.

Bormic looked over to him for a moment before returning his eyes to the road ahead. “About what?”

“The siege that is going to happen.” Ralof paused for a moment, looking at how the snow-sprinkled pines shook in the breeze from the north. “In Morthal.”

“I think it's going to be quicker than Whiterun.” Bormic said gruffly.

Ralof chuckled for a few moments. “Why's that?”

“Well, they can't get any food through the swamps, we'll be blocking off every road leading into the city, and the walls are so old and mouldy I could knock them down by breathing on them a little too hard.” he sighed. “What about you?”

“I...” Ralof began. “I don't really know. You seem to know more about sieges than I do.”

“That's mostly because I've lived through some, even before I came to Skyrim.”

“Are you willing to tell me about it?” Ralof asked, giving him a playful nudge on the shoulder.

Bormic sighed. “All in due time my friend...” he seemed a little pained as he said it. “All in due time.”

“Is it that bad to remember?” Ralof could clearly see that it bothered him.

Bormic nodded. “It's never been something I'm proud of, or would like to do again.”

There was a long silence between them, only filled in by the shaking of the cart, the clopping of the horse's hooves against the frozen road, and the wispy breaths of the wind.

“You know, even though you've been my friend for almost a year, I still know little about you.”

“That's because I don't wish to relive most of my early life.” Bormic sighed.

Ralof frowned, but remained silent.

The day was coming to an end, and the sun was slowly fading beyond the horizon to make way for the little flickering candles that began to reveal themselves in the dying daylight. The wind had died down and revealed the world to be quite quiet and peaceful. They had tied the horse to one of the dusted pines and let her rest, after giving her a good meal of oats and other various grains. The fire crackled and wheezed to break the silence as it hungrily licked at the charring wood underneath.

Ralof sat in silence, looking over at Bormic who was currently devouring a hunk of venison from a deer they had killed a little earlier.

“When do you think the siege will start?” Ralof asked the grizzled soldier.

He looked up from his meal and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Soon,”

“I hope I live through it.” Ralof said, taking a bite out of his own meal.

“You will,” he said, looking Ralof deep in the eye. “You have to.”

Ralof raised an eyebrow at Bormic. “And why's that?”

“Without you,” Bormic began. “Who will fetch my mead?”

They both roared with laughter. It was always nice to be with Bormic, as he always had a light heart even before the storm. When the laughter died down, Bormic finished his meal and then looked at Ralof.

“So...” he said, glancing up at the stars that twinkled like crystals under sunlight. “How about a game of dice?”


	5. Eternity

“What are we even doing here? I thought you said we would be doing something special, not climbing through hills.” Ralof groaned, trying to keep up with Bormic who was a ways ahead of him.

Bormic took a few more steps and turned around. “This is special. Well, not the climbing, but what you'll see when you make it up here.”

The day was fine in the Reach. Birds could be heard calling out, along with the cool wind rustling the low trees in the warm, bright daylight. The sky was completely blue, and not a single cloud was in sight. The first time such weather has been present in a while. The sloshing and gurgling of a nearby stream could be heard, and it just added another level of peace to the entire day.

Ralof climbed up the stones as fast as he could in an attempt to catch up to his lover. “You know I'm not the most excited person when it comes to climbing up rocks...” he grumbled.

“Just be happy it isn't ash, like I had to deal with when I was younger!” Bormic called out. “Come on, I have some mead when you get up here.”

Mead. Ralof could almost taste it on his lips. That put his gears in motion, scrambling up the rocky slope as fast as he could. Despite not loving mead as much as Bormic did, he still enjoyed drinking the sweet nectar.

Bormic had already settled down on the top of the hill when Ralof finally made it up, panting and wheezing. “Your legs not as good as they used to be?”

Ralof panted for a few seconds before gathering enough air to speak. “Hey, you know I've settled down and haven't been running around like you have for at least a year.”

“True. You're more of an 'at home' husband than anything else.” Bormic replied, a large smile on his face.

Ralof playfully punched him on the shoulder. “Hey! I go outside sometimes,”

Bormic let out a hearty laugh, and Ralof couldn't help but smile.

“So, I brought some food as well. We can enjoy lunch, and then I want to show you something.” Bormic said, his hands straying to the pack beside him as he pulled out a bottle of mead and handed it to his lover.

“And what is the thing you want to show me?” Ralof said between gulps of mead.

Bormic smiled a genuine smile. It spoke more than Ralof knew he could say. “It's something I came across years ago. Something I wanted to show you since I had first stumbled across it.”

They ate a good lunch in the sunny, bright, and wonderful day. The two lovers enjoyed salted pork on sliced brown-bread, and enjoyed a little drink of snowberry mead; their own concoction. The food wasn't the best Ralof had ever eaten, but it was better than he had hoped for. He knew all too well of having to eat horrid food while away from home. The war had shown him that. The wind had picked up a little while they ate, turning into a cooling current to combat the heat of the sun above.

The view was certainly the best thing about the spot that Bormic had chosen. Ralof could see the bright green grass combat the grey rocks in the hillside, with shaggy and low trees littered throughout the landscape. He could even see into the plains of Whiterun, with it's dull brown grass that rose higher than the grass anywhere else, with it also came the pools of water and small streams that ran through the permafrost. The mountains behind them were impressive as well, standing tall and proud and intricate as if they were made by a master architect, with white crystal snow blanketing the peaks of the impressive feats of nature.

“Mind if you show me what you wanted to now?” Ralof spoke, jostling Bormic a bit.

He jumped a little, as though he was deep in thought. “Can't enjoy the beauty of the scene around you, can you? Alright, follow me.”

Ralof got up from his position on his cloak against the dirt, leaving it behind as Bormic had done the same with his. It was another, but short, walk to where he wanted to go. Then he saw what Bormic wanted to show him. It stood a little taller than Bormic was, looking like it was ancient. It was made of a light coloured wood, the grooves in it thick and deep. Iron bands wrapped its way across the wooden structure, detailed with Nordic knots that crossed one another time and time again to create a beautiful, if seemingly simple, design.

Ralof knew what it was. He had even shown the Dragonborn three them so long ago. It was a standing stone. One of the thirteen scattered across Skyrim, and built by ancients. Delicately carved stone pillars, lightly covered in bright green moss, wrapped its way above the stone itself to give it more of an important and ancient feel. On it, a moderately sized figure had been carved into it, the lines black against the brown of the wood. It was of a woman, with long flowing hair, and a voluptuous figure, covered with lines of silk that draped down from her limbs to create bows and curves.

“It's the lover stone.” Bormic said, laying a hand against one of the smooth stone spikes and breaking the silence. “I found it during one of my few hunts trying to kill some damned deer in this wilderness.”

Ralof smiled. He didn't know what words to really say, but he knew Bormic understood that he loved it all the same.

“I brought you here, because I love you. And I always will.” His voice was soft and kind, but firm. “I'll love you until the world itself comes to an end. I'll love you even after we pass into Sovngarde. I'll love you...” he took the pause to wrap his arms around Ralof and give him a soft, yet passionate kiss. “For the rest of eternity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favourite drabbles I have created so far (personally). I'm so happy to see that people enjoy reading these little drabbles, so thanks.


	6. Songs in Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sorry for the long dry spot for this story, but school's starting up in only a few days for me, and that means that I've been playing a lot of games to get as much done as I can before time runs out.  
> Since there was such a long wait since last update, there will be another addition to this story tomorrow. :)

_The ground, is cold, the water's ice, and the men huddle 'round the fire._

_They wait, and wait, amidst the storm, wearing cloaks made of deep blue._

_They fight, with steel, along the streets, painting the stones crimson red._

_And then, the stone, is charred to black, as the sky is filled with fire._

_Yet times, are dark, and all seems dim, they still fight in the frost._

_And when, the time, the sun rises, they will all weep tears of joy._

_For, the man, that they fight for, shall sit upon the throne._

_And, that day, will be rejoiced, for the men in red are gone._

_But, we are, still in the dark, and we hold the candle close._

_And when, the time, the sun rises, they will cast down all their blades._

_For their home, is won, but not for long, for the dragons still fly high._

_But, the day, has not come, and we sit here in the cold._

_Sit here in the cold..._

The haunting melody ended and the men all fell silent. A couple shivered, and others wrapped their cloak around them, the song seeming to have drained their warmth. Bormic was the only one who remained unaffected from the song, most likely due to him being the one who started singing it, and a couple of the other soldiers went in and helped out. He would have to write down the lyrics eventually. He was hoping the song would spread throughout the troops, as even though it was dark, it still had those lines that meant there was going to be hope for them.

They would win the war. They had to. Talos was a divine, whether the elves wished to accept that fact or not. He was sitting in the pantheon just like all the other divines, watching down upon men and their courses of action. But was it really Bormic's place to be here in the war, or was he meant for something else? He had left Morrowind against everyone's wishes, and all on his own. No one to guide him, and he had to make his way to Skyrim himself. Perhaps he was only destined to help rebuild Morrowind and turn it back into the land it once was two hundred years ago.

That would never happen until the ash quit being thrown into the sky. This was where he was supposed to be. He was meant to be a protector of his people's faith, and to give Skyrim freedom from a crumbling Empire. But what would happen when the war was won? What would the Dominion do? They would certainly try and take down Skyrim and oppress it one more, right? Bormic gazed into the fire, and tossed another snow-dusted log onto it, sending sparks spiralling into the sky like little stars wishing to return to their places in the sky.

The wind had picked up, and nearly bit through Bormic's coat, and it looked like Ralof wasn't fairing much better. He was off shivering while cooking some more food at the second fire. Frost and snow was kicked up by the wind, and covered everything in its past, not to help with the snow from above being whipped at the soldiers. Winterhold was the worst of the holds, of that there was no doubt. Bormic almost wished he was back in Morrowind. At least there it was of a decent temperature, unlike Skyrim. The evening was dimmer than Bormic would've liked, and the snow didn't help with trying to spot ships along the coast. He could barely see the edge of the camp, with the horses only being faint darker images against the pounding snow. The fact that it was winter didn't help with being in the coldest province in Skyrim.

Ralof didn't seem to mind it nearly as much as Bormic did. He was shivering, but he still wore his cloak behind him, leaving it to nearly fly off if the wind picked up a little more. Maybe it was the fact that he was almost standing over the fire, or maybe it was because he was born in Skyrim, and lived in it his whole life. He was a good friend though. The first he's had entering this strife-filled land.

And he always would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after "In the Cold". Only a few days later, actually.


	7. Plans for the Holidays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the second drabble. :)

“Well, it was nice to get this city back, especially since it was much more peaceful to get it back.” Bormic said, his eyes gazing all over the city of Markarth. It was a nice city, but maybe quite corrupt. Not as much as Riften, but it had other problems than thieves. It was its own guards.

Ralof nodded at Bormic's statement, and took a gulp from his bottle of mead. “Certainly. This is the result of the truce treaty made between the Imperial Legion and us Stormcloaks?”

“Mhm,” Bormic said with a nod and a bite of garlic bread. “It all was brought by the Dragonborn himself.”

“I think you mentioned that already,” Ralof said with a laugh. “But what was he like?”

Bormic paused at the question. What would be the best way to answer it? He had hardly seen the man, and he spoke only a few words throughout the entire treaty. It was pretty funny to see both Ulfric and Tullius slide back into their seats in fear after things got heated between them.

“He's... not much of a talker.” Bormic said slowly, remembering one of the most important days of his life. “Only had a dagger at his side, and wore robes. His companion was wearing armour made of dragon bones though. It was a sight to see.”

“You think you'll ever meet him again?”

Bormic shook his head. “No, I don't think I will. It's been said he doesn't show himself too much.”

Ralof frowned. “It would've been nice to see him once more, him and I being in Helgen during the first dragon attack.”

“Right. I got to see him where he is now. A shame he traded over the Rift for Markarth, and made the Stormcloaks reimburse the families here.” Bormic paused before adding, “Not that reimbursing the families is a bad thing, but it doesn't help the war effort.”

“How much gold did they have to give?” Ralof asked, setting down his empty mead bottle, while looking over at the silver mines as they sat at the edge of the road where the stone fell away to a pool of water.

It was night time, and the soft and cool breeze from the north was refreshing, and felt like Skyrim more than snow ever could. Stars could be seen in the sky, shining like the tips of candles against the inky black of Oblivion. Autumn was always a nice season for Skyrim. The Rift changes to its golden look that the hold is famous for, while the world just changes. The crops are full and ready to be harvested, and much more food is made to last out the long winters that Skyrim knows well.

It would be Harvest Day soon, which was always nice to enjoy. Food sells for cheap, and feasts take place in all the towns and cities. Riften usually had food styled to be sweet and tasting of honey. Markarth usually gets more meat, and potent juniper berry-infused mead. Whiterun normally gets a lot more bread going, and many different pastries. Solitude breaks out the much more expensive food obtained from the East Empire Trading Company, with food from Valenwood and Hammerfell being the most widely eaten, with Cyrodiilic Brandy present in every inn and tavern. Morthal got a lot more food from both Markarth and Solitude, as they could get little food themselves. Dawnstar became a fish haven during the week-long festival, with many different types caught, and each one cooked differently so each tasted unique. Falkreath usually got a lot more food from the south in Cyrodiil, and got a lot more meat and fish, along with honey. Winterhold just simply doesn't celebrate it, as the entire hold is wrapped in ice and snow. And Windhelm usually got a lot more exotic foods from Morrowind, due to the large Dunmer population in the city.

Thinking of all the different holds and various foods made Ralof feel starving once more. He'd have to go back to the inn soon, and maybe get Bormic some more garlic bread. He loved the stuff.

Bormic took a large bite of his garlic bread, and then thought for a moment. “Ten-thousand gold was the amount.”

Ralof's eyes went wide. “That would be enough to support the entire army's food budget for a month!”

“Yeah,” Bormic said with a nod, “the Dragonborn was set on the deal though. But now that we have Markarth back, we can make back the amount of gold in a couple of months.”

“So, you excited for Harvest Day?” Ralof asked, what with the holds and what they served going through his mind, why not ask his friend about it?

Bormic gave him a confused look, but it faded quickly. “Yeah, I didn't experience it last time it came around. In Morrowind, food grows when it grows, unlike here. Crops never have a set time when they go ripe, so it could be winter, or summer, or anywhere in-between when a food could be ready to harvest, so I guess it's celebrated in every province but Morrowind. Which city should we enjoy it in?”

Ralof thought on the question for a moment, all the different things going through his mind. “I want to say Riften, if we can get it back before the festivities end.”

Bormic shrugged. “If not, we go to Windhelm. I'd like to eat some of the foods I've known my entire life once more.”

Ralof smiled, and then sat up. “I'm going to get some more mead, alright?”

Bormic nodded with a small smile on his face. “And bring me more garlic bread, if you can!”

Ralof laughed, and let his feet carry him back to the inn.


	8. Hungover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long update, but school has been a little tougher than I thought, so I needed to spend time on making sure my marks are good.  
> That, and the fact that I like playing games.

“Never again...” Bormic groaned.

Ralof attempted to laugh but it came out as a strangled moan.

Bormic clutched his head and slumped even further into the chair. “Never again...” he repeated.

Ralof blinked from the bed and tried to get up to look at him, but couldn't and mercifully flopped back onto the straw bed. “How much do you think we drunk last night?”

“Too much,” was Bormic's answer.

In truth they had drunk a lot more than they should have. Even Ulfric and Galmar hadn't gulped down as many drinks as the two Stormblades had. It had been a fun night though. The end of the year was always a big celebration even back in Morrowind. Not like Skyrim would be too much different. The sky had been clear that night, and a beautiful aurora of bright red, orange and a tinge of purple danced across the sky, with the many stars that beamed like the most flawless diamonds shone down onto the streets and snow-capped rooftops. Even Masser and Secunda conquered the sky that night, turning the ground a soft shade of red.

It had been a night of dancing, drinking, feasting and celebrations. Special candles had been set up along buildings and walkways so that it could provide extra light in the dim night, while thin lines of rope with small triangles of coloured cloth waved in the wind above. Bormic loved what he remembered, and hated what he didn't; since it meant he drank way too much while he was already so drunk he couldn't remember and most likely did many things around the house that he shouldn't have. He wanted to get up, but feared he couldn't. Ralof was still moaning and groaning in bed from his own hangover.

Bormic couldn't prevent the sharp yelp from being released as he stood up and immediately fell back onto the chair. It creaked softly behind him as he sat down, the wood being bent from all the sudden weight. He reached for his boot, from which the pain had been present, and took it off gingerly. He flipped it so that the soles of the boots faced the ceiling and a small steel dagger fell out and landed right between Bormic's feet; the blade stuck into the wood. He looked at it confused for a couple seconds and then hesitantly reached out to grab it like it wanted to stab him again.

It confused him that the dagger that he kept safe in his boot was upside down and out of its sheath. He looked inside the boot and sighed in relief; it was still fine. He put his foot back in it and gently placed the dagger in its rightful spot before standing up once more. He groaned and stretched once he was up, and failed to hold back the yawn as he did so. With inconsistent and loud footsteps he made it out of Hjerim's bedroom, currently containing a very hungover Ralof, and down the steps to the main hall.

A pile of clothes that blocked the door was what greeted him and Bormic made a face of disappointment for his drunk self. He staggered over and bent down slowly, trying to avoid as much pain as he could with the pounding headache throbbing every second or so. He picked up coats, boots and a pair of pants, oddly enough. They had an 'R' stitched into them, so Bormic instantly knew they were Ralof's. Rolling his eyes at what the two of them might have done drunk, he walked into the kitchen and let out another groan.

The fire was out and the large soup pot that had been sitting over it had been tipped over, with the mess partially cleaned up. The rag was still in a half-swipe across the now-inedible food, with Bormic's hand still imprinted on the brownish white cloth. He walked over to the water barrel, being very careful to avoid stepping in the sludge that was once stew. He grabbed a mug and dipped it into the nearly-warm water and gulped it down, shuddering and sighing at the same time. That helped, only a little, but any difference was better than none.

He looked at the stew pile with disgust once more. Was it worth getting that drunk on the New Year festival and having to clean up the house to have a couple hours of fun?

Just then, Ralof let out another groan, one that echoed down into the kitchen, and Bormic smiled.

Yes, it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the Stormcloaks win the civil war and after they get married, but before 'Eternity'.


	9. Lost

“Face it Bormic. We’re lost,” Ralof grunted as he thwacked a low-lying bush away from him.

Bormic sighed, defeated. “I swore it was just over here…”

Ralof rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and you’ve only been here in Skyrim for a year or less.”

Bormic sighed again. “True. Maybe we should consult the map again?”

The other shook his head fiercely. “Last time you consulted the map, we ended up in a cave full of bears.”

“It _did_ give us a test of endurance though,” Bormic said with a laugh.

Ralof groaned and didn’t say another word.

The sun was just beginning to set and Ralof and Bormic had been trying to find a hidden Stormcloak camp for about a week. They had attempted to follow instructions until the note everything was written on was washed away by the river when something had decided to attack them. After that, they had a poorly made map taken from one of the few locals within the Reach and tried and failed to find the camp they were supposed to go to.

They’d head back to Windhelm if it wasn’t about three weeks of travel away. With the dying sunlight, they became a little more desperate at finding something to sleep under, as rain was constant in the Reach. Maybe they’d stumble across a farm or something in the wild hills that the Reach was known for; that and a huge amount of rainfall. They’d found a camp of savages as well, people that wore hides as proper clothing and used weapons made of rock and stick. Bormic and Ralof managed to kill a couple of them before their numbers became a little too much and they sprinted across the hills in any direction they could, further adding to them being lost.

The two men remained silent for a long time as they passed bushes, trees that were as gnarly as the land itself, and grass that reached their ankles. A lone wolf could be heard calling into the twilight and both men stopped in their tracks.

“Think we should settle in for the night?” Bormic suggested.

Ralof simply shrugged. “I guess so,”

They set up a barely functional camp. No fire was lit as they wanted to keep themselves hidden as much as possible and there was empty sky above their heads. Fortunately, all they could see in the dimming sky was stars, without a single cloud to drift across it. It was a relief to them as it meant there wasn’t going to be rain when they woke up, usually. In the Reach, the weather seemed to change at random though.

When they awoke, they were greeted to a soft drizzle and a dull grey sky with no variation of colour in them. Bormic groaned and Ralof followed suit while they went to packing their meal, wolfing down a couple berries they had found and hoped weren’t poisonous, and continued on their way to the elusive Stormcloak camp that seemed to have vanished entirely from the world.

The weather didn’t improve. In fact, it got worse. The wind increased, despite the hills attempting to break up any huge gusts of wind, and the rainfall also sped up. The rain had been going for three days before their one day of sunshine and then it unfortunately returned to raining as it seemed to normally do. With a glance to the north, Bormic stopped, prompting Ralof to bump into him.

“Hey, why’d you stop?” he asked, anger just barely breaking free from Bormic’s incompetence with a map and navigating the Reach in general.

Bormic pointed out to what he saw, a large smoke column that rose to up several giants in height. “That’s why,”

Ralof shrugged. “I doubt that that’s the camp.” He was going to continue walking, but Bormic held his hand out and stopped him.

“Maybe it could be the camp though,” Bormic breathed. “Come on.” He said as he started into a jog.

Ralof sighed and followed him, keeping his slow trudging pace rather than trying to keep up.

Bormic made it up one more hill and sighed, raised his hands and called Ralof over. “I found the camp!”

Ralof’s eyes snapped up and he went into a jog as well, yet fell over due to a root that had stuck out in his direct path. He crashed against the dirt and grass and breathed out angrily while Bormic let out a couple of hearty laughs. Ralof ignored his laughter and started up once more, up the hill to stand beside Bormic.

And there it was; the camp. The one spot that had eluded them for a week had finally been found. They both bolted into a sprint down the hill to make it to the camp that they could finally rest at after weeks of travel, even after they had gotten separated from their group back in Rorikstead. They made it into the camp and immediately set down their packs and weapons and set to finding a tent for each of them. Galmar strode out of the camp at the sound of the two of them with a disapproving look clear on his face.

“What took you two so long, hm?” his voice sounded even less impressed than his look, if it was possible.

Bormic was the one to answer. “We got lost, and then our directions got ruined, then we made it to a camp of savages and took a poorly made map, got chased across the Reach and just now found our way here.”

Galmar smirked for a moment, before it was gone. “Ulfric owes _me_ a drink this time. Sounds like you have quite the story to tell, and I’m sure our brothers and sisters here would like to hear it. ”

They both began walking before Galmar started up again.

“But right now, you have to make up for your mistakes, and how you’ll do that is by handling a couple jobs for our fellow Stormcloaks.” He nearly walked back in camp before he said something else. “ _Inside_ the camp.”

He strode back inside the camp, laughing and a couple Stormcloaks laughed with him. Ralof shook his head at Bormic and frowned. “From now on,” he said, “I’m the navigator.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, not very 'happy', but I think this is a good addition.
> 
> Remember, if you have any ideas you think could be added, please say them. :)


	10. Ships in Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this one. This one isn't that happy either, but again, I feel it's a nice addition. Albeit, a bit shorter than normal.

“Ever think of going to Cyrodiil?” Ralof was the one to ask the question.

Bormic eyed him and nodded slightly. “A few times,” he paused and then continued before Ralof could say anything, if he was going to. “Why do you ask?”

“I just think we should go somewhere special. Skyrim’s nice and all, but I think we need a change for at least a while. With the war over, we could make it to Cyrodiil and spend a weekend there, or maybe a month depending on how much we like it.”

Bormic frowned. “With the war over, the Imperials will have fortified the border more than ever. We’re independent now and that means we won’t have anything to do with the lands south for a while.”

Ralof nodded begrudgingly. “I guess. Heard the East Empire Company is shutting down here in Skyrim,”

“Well,” Bormic said, “it only makes sense. I mean, the East Empire Company is controlled by the Imperials and since we’ve gone independent, we won’t be seeing any of those luxury goods we’re so used to.”

Ralof nodded and looked out from the walls of Solitude during one of their visits to the city and watched the various ships of all sizes sail across, through, and out the harbour.

The sun was just beginning to set and began to change the colour of the water a beautiful colour of scarlet with a tinge of purple. A gentle breeze came down from the north, keeping Ralof and Bormic’s hair from their faces and instead leaving it trailing behind them. Small ships that looked to be traders sailed in with crews clad in white but beyond that, any detail was indistinguishable. Some had white sails and others had the deep blue to show they were a Stormcloak barque or carrack. One of the larger ships, most likely a carrack, had a gold trimming along the sail and the large bear that people knew attached in the centre. Its wood was of a darker colour than most and it had a large ram at the head along with a carving of a bear. Bormic had a feeling of who the ship belonged to but wasn’t fully certain, maybe Ralof did though.

“Who’s ship do you think that is?” Ralof asked, destroying any possibility of him knowing.

Bormic eyed the ship and its crew who were little more than dark specks that moved hurriedly across the deck of the ship like a colony of ants. “It’s most likely Ulfric’s,”

“How can you be sure?” Ralof asked him.

“Who else owns a warship like that?” Bormic countered. “Besides, he told me that he had a ship under construction ever since our siege of Markarth.”

Ralof nodded lightly. “Well, it would make sense. There’s plenty of pine in Eastmarch.”

“Should we head down to the docks and make sure?” Bormic offered. It would do them good to walk as well since they took a carriage over to the city and hadn’t done much walking in the city there were visiting.

Ralof nodded and they stepped back from their spot on the wall and began to walk down the streets of the slowly depopulating roads. They quickened their pace after they decided the ship would make it to the harbour far before they ever made it down there.

The ship was even more impressive up close, with large amounts of ropes tied to both keep the masts up and to let the sailors climb up them to reach locations that would be otherwise inaccessible. The wood of the ship was plain and had no extra flare to it like they thought it would yet it looked to be strong and could receive some punishment if need be. The hull itself had no holes in it spare a few that could be opened and closed where the latter was waterproof. Bormic guessed it was for something like bailing water if the ship got any during a storm or had a hole punched through the wood.

The sails were enormous and most likely took a long time to weave and set up on the ship. The gold trim and the large bear that was the symbol of Eastmarch made it seem ten times as expensive. The men were dressed as casual as one would expect on a ship with a white cotton shirt and a Stormcloak-blue sash that was tied across their chest and went down to their belts. The uniforms were quite simple yet it was a ship and armour wasn’t needed unless they were going to board another ship or be boarded. As such, they most likely didn’t wear their armour unless they had to.

Rows of different shields all of various styles were lined up along the edge of the ship and were meant to block arrows, not get in the way and could be easily grabbed in case of an attack.

A large board came sailing over the edge of the ship and landed on the dock with one edge up high on the ship. A single crewmember looked over the edge and nodded to the two warriors who had gone to see the ship along with Bormic and Ralof. There was a small amount of chatter that could be heard from up above on the ship and several Stormcloak soldiers walked down the extremely sturdy plank followed by the man Bormic had expected, Ulfric.

Galmar wasn’t with him which was a surprise as the houscarl usually followed him wherever he went and Ulfric only had a few soldiers with him. The majority of the crew climbed off from the ship after the soldiers and Ulfric himself had gotten off and they all immediately went to the inn on the other side of the street.

“What are you doing here Ulfric?” Bormic asked the Jarl of Windhelm once they were close enough.

“Just decided to take my ship around for a sail to test it out. Heard you two were heading over to Solitude and thought I might as well try to find you, but it seems you have found me instead.”

Bormic smiled and Ralof grinned. “It’s nice to see you, friend.”

Ulfric smiled as well and nodded. “It’s good to see you too,”

He clapped both soldiers on the back and lead them away from the ship and up the many steps to the city itself. “Let’s have a drink, eh?” After a short pause he added, “You wouldn’t believe the shit we went through on our way here...”


	11. Impossible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shaking off the hiatus with Of Ash and Snow (which should have updates hit it soon enough, sorry for the huge delay) with some more, smaller actual drabbles. So I guess you can expect more updates on this collection from now on?
> 
> Most will probably be really short like this one is but whatever. Better little than nothing, right?  
> Oh, and since I'm actually not abiding by my Heroes, Legends and Saviours Elder Scrolls universe (well, not fully at least), feel free to say some suggestions as to what I should write here or over at my email ( thelonesurvivorao3@gmail.com ) if you have any particular short story involving these two you want to see.  
> This story is HLaS canon.

“I love you,”

“I love you more.”

“Impossible.”

“No, it totally is possible. I’ll prove it.”

“How? Last I checked, you didn’t show me a magnificent stone in the middle of the Reach and promised me that you’d love me for the rest of eternity no matter what happened.”

“...I make you garlic bread.”

“Bu-”

“Whenever you say you want it.”

“Wel-”

“And I make sure it’s extra buttery and garlicky.”

“...We’ll call it a tie.”

“Deal.”

“Now can I have a kiss?”

“Only if you agree that I love you more.”

“Then I’ll kiss you.”

“Hands off the chef, you never know what he’s cooking.”

“...Probably a rock of some sort.”

“I _wish_ I could cook rocks! That way, we’d never go hungry!”

“We never do in the first place. Plus, I’m pretty sure Ulfric would give us a stern talking to if he walked outside and saw half the city eaten by two Nords.”

“We _do_ have big appetites…”

“Heh, yeah. And when it comes to garlic bread…”

“There’s never enough of it?”

“Exactly.” . . . “I love you, Ralof.”

. . .

“I love you more, Bormic.”


	12. Target Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you are, another drabble for Bormic and Ralof (still the most loved couple I've made) and I think it turned out pretty damn well. Oh, and I'm also playing around with a new style of writing. Let me know what you think! Unless... you don't want to, then that's fine I guess...  
> This is HLaS canon.  
> Hope you enjoy it.

They walk along the road towards Whiterun, away from the oldest Nordic city that they call their home. _Crunch crunch, crunch crunch, crunch crunch_. Their footsteps and the wind are the only things that break the silence as they trudge on. The snow is pitiful as it falls, tiny and pathetic flakes smaller than the head on a coin, wisp down to the ground. The sun is nowhere to be seen and the sky is a monotone bright grey, not even a ripple or fracture to show that it’s a cloud layer.

Occassionaly, the wind makes the snow dance and twirl around in eye catching spectacles but they don’t last long and the two Nords are reminded of their task.

“We _really_ had to go to Markarth now didn’t we?” Ralof grumbles over the wind, making sure his voice is heard.

Bormic shrugs and doesn’t turn around to see his lovely companion. “Oh come on! You know that it’ll be nice to see the city of gold once more. Plus, I want to check out their new bath house they have installed! Heard some old Dwemer expert got enough money to privately fund the construction of it. It just finished a few months ago. Apparently, it taps into a part of the mountain stream and it gets heated up into something extremely soothing, if the rumours are to be believed.”

“And I’m assuming it costs a lot to get in?”

Bormic nods, evident even through the snow. “Why else would I talk Ulfric into giving me a thousand coins from his treasury?”

“For more garlic bread?” Ralof lightheartedly offers.

Bormic stops and scratches his chin, letting Ralof make up the few paces he was behind Bormic and his superior endurance, despite it being freezing cold. Of course, he’s all dressed in a winter cloth shirt, instead of his usual stained linen one, a fuzzy winter cloak that is the same length of his original linen cloak, also dyed twilight blue, although his iconic suit of mithril chainmail and deep twilight blue wraps in the traditional Stormcloak style is still on him as ever. “Good idea! I’ll have to spend the money I can spare on that!”

They both share a laugh and then continue on. Eventually, Ralof ends up in front of Bormic and being the lighthearted person Bormic is, he simply can’t resist to do _something_ to his wonderful husband.

Bormic deftly bends down and grabs a handful of snow, packs it into a good sized ball, takes aim and throws it at Ralof. The snowball hits Ralof directly in the back of the head and, momentarily shocked, Ralof grabs hold of his weapon but then stops the reflex attempt. He pats the back of his head, covered in the splattered remains of a snowball, and scoops what he can off and packs his own snowball. He turns and sees Bormic standing there, a wide and eager grin on his face telling Ralof that he’s entirely ready for a snowball fight.

Ralof wastes no time in getting it started and throws his projectile at Bormic who, expecting it, nimbly dodges it and throws his own. It hits Ralof in the leg and he ignores it, determined to hit his husband at least _once_.

Another missed throw from Ralof and a return miss from Bormic. Two more from both parties, one hitting Ralof and both from Team Ralof connecting with Bormic or his cloak. “Oh, I’ll get you for that!” Bormic playfully growls even though he’s clearly doing better than Ralof.

“You sure, or do you think you’ll miss again?” Ralof cheekily replies. Lighthearted verbal sparring was good for the soul, according to Bormic and Ralof decided to follow by Bormic’s words for now. It hasn’t proved to be a bad thing in the past so why not?

Bormic laughs for a moment and just barely avoids another snowball. “Great, now I gotta get you for that too!”

After several more minutes of dashing around and scraping at the snow to make enough projectiles to throw, Bormic evidently becomes the victor, Ralof looking more snow than person. Bormic laughs his rich, hearty laugh once more and helps brush Ralof off and holds his hand as they walk, kissing only slightly restrained kisses when they can.

There would certainly be a need for more kissing when they made it to Markarth and experienced that luxurious bath house for themselves.

Even if it was disappointing, Ralof knew that the trip was worth it. As long as Bormic was with him, it always was.


	13. Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and nothing exciting, but one of my finer works, I say.  
> HLaS canon.

The world was a beautiful place when you had the time to look at it. When you can just stand still and watch the world breath and exhale at its own pace, and doing things its own way. Bormic had done it before, but rarely had he ever had the time to enjoy a night as perfect as this one.

The evening was rather clear, all things considered. A stiff breeze, just enough chill in the air to allow the creation of silver smoke from a breath and enough moisture to allow it to feel clean, purified in a way, the last remnants of an amber sunset fading from gold to the lightest blue to a fine cyan and then into an ever darkening blue, rich like a fine vintage of wine. Stars were just starting to flicker and dance eternal in the sapphire sky that seemed so _limitless_ , to give the world the gift of beauty, even in dark. The moons of Masser and Secunda were out, lighting up the night with their godly glows, illuminating the grey clouds that broke and fractured into millions of pieces like brittle wood beaten with iron blades.

Bormic looked out over the landscape, admiring the shadowy shapes of the trees swaying in the breeze, the way the smoke drifted up from the flickering embers of the fire they had made and the relaxing and constant sound of the stream rushing ever downwards to meet up with the river farther north. "It's times like this that make life worth all it's hassle."

Ralof looked up at Bormic from his spot close to the fire, stood and took his own time looking at everything Bormic was, seeing the smaller details when travel would not allow it, and to see the moons and growing number of stars when sleep denied the ability to see it. He paid attention to the sounds that thought often blocked out and watched the world move and shift and change. Live. "It is," he said at last.

The blond warrior of the north rested his head on his lover's shoulder and received the soothing embrace of an arm that could protect him against the world. They both didn't need to say anything, as nothing needed to be put to voice. It was as if the world could bring their thoughts forth; they could speak without the use of words or motion, and understood one another perfectly.

Bormic fell back onto the earth, solid but not uncomfortable and brought Ralof down with him, simply staring up at the sky as new stars were lit and old ones grew brighter. They watched the clouds drift apart and new ones appear and how the trees danced their tuneless music, singing.

They watched the moons move from beyond sight and smiled when they saw the first glow of sunlight paint the bottoms of the clouds a radiant magenta. They watched the sky come alive with new, bright colour and the first hints of gold peak out from behind the mountains. They listened as the birds began to sing and the creek hymned along with them, joining the trees, and watched as the scattered diamond beacons of the sky receded and faded away for yet another day, letting the constant blue of the sky fill the world from horizon to horizon.

The world is a paradise, Bormic determined, and all it takes is simply watching it live to truly realize it.


End file.
